Communing with the Spirits
by doranobaka
Summary: Phileas's thoughts after the incidents in the Lazarus episode. Warning: Mild slash PhileasPassportout, unrequited and incest PhileasRebecca


**A/N:** I was recently digging through some files and I found this bit of drabble I'd written back when I was still madly in love with the Secret Adventures of Jules Verne. Set just after the Lazarus episode, this contains a fair amount of angst, a small bit of slash, and a fair bit of incest (first cousins wanting to kiss each other and all that).

**Communing With The Spirits  
**  
Phileas Fogg sat alone in the sitting room of his home. Well, that wasn't _entirely_ true. He had made himself quite familiar with a bottle of brandy, which was sitting pleasantly at his feet. Somehow, it managed to stay upright despite the swaying room. It had also managed to lose most of its contents, despite not spilling. Fogg took another swig out of his shot glass.  
  
What a wild few days it had been. He had been attacked by both of the people dearest to him, then nearly lost them both to a crazed agent that he'd killed six years ago.  
  
He finished his glass of brandy, reached shakily for the bottle at his feet, and managed to pour the last of the spirit into his glass without spilling it. He marvelled briefly at the empty bottle before replacing it on the floor.  
  
With Rebecca, it was only to be expected that she be in life-threatening situations. She was an agent, for Christ's sake! Of course she would be in danger! Fogg didn't like it, had never liked it, but he had come to accept it. Rebecca was a capable girl-- he corrected himself-- a capable woman, and she could take care of herself. All he could do was protect her when he could and hope for the best the rest of the time.  
  
But Passportout... Passportout was only his manservant! _He_ shouldn't have been subject to such danger. Hell, the start of this mess hadn't anything to do with Fogg or his espionage business; it had all begun with the death of the poor man's aunt.  
  
Phileas's blood boiled, and he nearly threw the glass against the wall across from him. After losing his beloved aunt, Passportout shouldn't have had to go through what he had! No man should have control of his body taken from him, especially in his time of grief.  
  
Fogg finally downed the last of the brandy in a single gulp, and set the tumbler down on the table next to him, hard. It produced a satisfying ringing sort of sound, and he did it again, just because he could.  
  
It wasn't fair! It just wasn't _fair!_  
  
How could the two loves of his life turn out to be his cousin and, of all people, his _valet?_ What sort of cruel things had he done in a past life to warrant this?  
  
He reached for the brandy bottle again, then glared at it blearily. No longer containing any alcohol (though he could not tell you how _that_ had happened), it had ceased being friendly. He squinted, trying to read the label, but gave up after a few moments. Carefully, he replaced the bottle. It was probably for the better that it was no longer friendly; if he couldn't read his friends' names, it was probably time to stop being friends with them.  
  
Suddenly overcome by sleepiness, Fogg yawned widely. His bed was calling him, and, without more alcohol to keep him in his chair, he saw no reason to resist. He somehow managed to get to his feet and take a few shaky steps, but he knocked over the bottle in the process. He cursed loudly but did not try to pick it up.  
  
"Master, are you all right?" inquired Passportout unobtrusively from the other end of the room. Fogg blinked. When had _he_ arrived?  
  
"'Mfine, Passportout," Phileas slurred, waiting impatiently for the room to stop spinning. Passportout approached his master and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Are you sure? You don't look so good," he persisted. Phileas shook his head, swaying dangerously. His servant quickly grabbed his arm and steadied him.  
  
"'Mfine... 'M goin' t' bed." He took another shaky step in that direction. Passportout remained at his side.  
  
"I still don't think you look so good. I'll help you, Master."  
  
Phileas snorted, "Fine," and let himself be led to his room by his valet.  
  
-- Fin.


End file.
